


Fiend with a Heart of a Yandere

by Canadian_BuckBeaver



Category: Batim - Fandom, Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Angst and Feels, Art, Art Theft, BATIM, Based off of a Fanfic, Based on a Tumblr Post, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Chapter Related, Character Death, Dark Magic, Deal with a Devil, Death, Demons, Devil's Trap, Explicit Language, Fighting, Gore, Head Injury, Headcanon, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Ink, Ink Demon, Insanity, Letters, Minor Character Death, Other, Poor Bendy (Bendy and the Ink Machine), Prophets, Satanic magic, Swearing, To Be Continued, Walking, Weapons, Worship, Writing, Yandere, bendy and the ink machine - Freeform, coffins, mostly - Freeform, nothing cute and cuddly, wandering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-18 00:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canadian_BuckBeaver/pseuds/Canadian_BuckBeaver
Summary: Henry is in a spot of trouble.  After thirty years he has returned to the little studio, the one that he swore he would never return to.  But when Joey asks him to return, he finds himself drawn to the area, back to his old dreams.Once there, things go from bad to worse.Henry learns the hard way about how some dreams should NOT come true.Note:  Partially inspired by "There's No Escape" by Star_Going_SuperNova, and a picture by the brilliant Nikki-On-Edge  https://nikki-on-edge.tumblr.com/post/174252176167/letmein-there-you-go-dragoonmaster1212-3-our





	1. Throwing You Head First into Inky Troubles

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [There's No Escape](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13300347) by [Star_Going_Supernova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Going_Supernova/pseuds/Star_Going_Supernova). 



> THIS IS NOT CONNECTED TO INK DEMON'S GAME. There will be no spoilers in this story

“HENRY! WHY CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I AM DOING THIS FOR YOUR BENEFIT?”  Bendy’s voice echoed around the Heavenly Toys Workshop.  He slowly walked around the entire floor of the factory, ink streaming from the floor and walls, darkening the area and giving a definite chill to the air.  Henry shivered slightly, but didn’t dare to say a word.  Instead he crouched deeper into the little safe house, praying that the ink demon would continue on.  Simply move on to the next room.

That was wishful thinking, but, then again, Henry had always been a fan of hoping for the impossible.

* * * * *

He didn’t know what had processed him to listen to the little letter that Joey had left him. When he first read the little note he had laughed and even thrown it into the trash. Who did Joey think he was, reaching out to him of all people after so long?  But, in the end he had grabbed the note and looked at it again, curiosity getting the best of him.  What could have Joey wanted to show him?  Thirty years had been a long time apart and, the last time they had seen each other, it hadn’t been on the best of terms.

Henry could still remember it like it was yesterday.  At the time, it was just a small cartoon studio, nowhere close to the delusions that Joey had been having.  They had barely aired their first show, the pilot episode, when Joey had considered themselves as big as Walt Disney, and had set himself to “expand the brand”.  Toys, spin off shows, more characters and voice actors…. The bills were rising and Henry had only seen negative numbers.  And Joey had his head so high up in the clouds that it was beginning to affect the future of the business.  Of course you were supposed to dream big in this business, but Joey had gone too far.  They had started arguing about money, and just how much it had cost to install the Ink Machine and its various plumbing.  Then it progressed to other business aspects and then it had gotten personal.  So Henry had left, slamming the door behind him.  Leaving Joey alone with his visions of grandeur.

When he had walked out of the studio, he had sworn that it had been for the last time.  He hadn’t wanted anything to do with Joey, or the silly little cartoon that they had drawn and wrote together.  It had hurt, yes, but he had needed to protect himself from being hurt further.

So Henry had left, closing that chapter of his life.  He had gotten a new, better paying job, lived his life.  He had gotten married and finally settled down with his life, he had loved and lived.  And that was enough for him.

That was until Joey’s letter.

That had apparently been enough to send him back to the old workshop after so many years…


	2. Ink Demon's Appearance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry and his old friend have entered the studio and found that there have been major changes since Henry was last there.
> 
> And not everything seems to be as it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: VIOLENT CHARACTER DEATH

Henry sighed as he stepped through the old workshop, opening the door slightly wider to allow Tom, one of his old friends in the door.  “Here it is,” he said with a sigh, “home sweet home.”  It seemed that none of the hallways had been cleaned in the thirty years he had been gone.  The layers of dust were thick on every surface and spider webs lined the doorways.

This made no sense to him.  Joey had continued to put out a few Bendy cartoons after he had left, he had seen them occasionally on the television.  So why did everything look so dark and ominous?

Shouldn’t there be at least someone here?  Joey had asked Henry to meet him here…

Tom exhaled and battled a spider away with his hat.  “The cleaning lady seems to have given up when you did,” he muttered, echoing Henry’s unspoken thoughts.

“Joey wasn’t one for cleanliness.  Even if it was his lunch plates, creativity and productivity always came first.  When I left he had been trying to hire someone to clean up after him… I suppose they too didn’t like bad cheques…” Henry said, eyeing the posters on the wall as he began to walk down the hallway.  The memories were beginning to flow back to him.

“This entire place is a fire hazard right now.  The wood is rotten, and you can smell the mould… I’m slightly surprised that you were able to escape it without breathing problems or worse.” Tom hurried to catch up to Henry.  “Goddamnit, your walking needs to slow down.  Who in tarnation are we running from?” Henry snorted but didn’t answer.  From his time in the army, Henry had adopted a military strut.  Long, quick strides.  It had made him seem like he was galloping but it got him to places where he needed to be. He passed by his old desk.  How much time had he spent there, wasted there, drawing his cartoons?

He allowed himself a soft chuckle at Tom’s comment.  “Remember, back then the building permits weren’t as stingy as they are now.  We probably got away with a lot more than we would have today. I’m pretty sure that we still have copper wires here.” He eyed the flimsy wiring.

Where was Joey?  He should have come up to greet them by now, or even answered the door when they knocked.  Perhaps they were early and Joey wasn’t expecting them yet?

Or maybe he thought it all a ruse and that Henry wasn’t coming.  Just doing it to spite him for so many years of silence. Perhaps he should have reached out sooner to his old friend.  How could he let a simple argument destroy such a valuable friendship?

Tom was looking around and seeing what rooms he could get into. “Copper wires, huh? The inspector would have a hay day with this place…” Tom chuckled, looking around in the new room they were in. Six, little pedestals stood tall, a unique picture behind each one.  A cog, bottle of ink, a wrench, what looked to be a plush, a music note, and a book. “… he certainly had a unique taste in decorating.”

Henry snorted. “Before my time.  You’d have to ask him about it yourself...” his voice trailed away as Tom rushed to catch up with him.

They both paused in one of the doors.  It was easy to see from the hallway.  A huge machine stood there, glimmering in the low light.  It was covered in gears and buttons and had two giant barrels of ink on its side.  There was what looked to be a sprout in the front of the machine, slowly dripping ink.  “What in hell’s name is that?”

“The Ink Machine….. It was supposed to pump ink to everyone’s desk.” Henry said, looking it over.  He had seen blueprints for it, but Joey had never built it.  At least, not when he was there.  He must have somehow found the time and manpower and finished it…

Or paid someone to do it for him.

“Why would anyone, even Walt Disney himself, need that much ink?” Tom asked.  “I thought that they weren’t that big of a company?”

Henry shrugged.  “Joey was an odd man,” he simply said, glancing at his watch.  “Seems like he’s not going to show up either…” Joey, the most timely of gentlemen, was a whopping ten minutes late. He probably was a no-show at this point.

Henry sighed, looking over the Ink Machine.  There was just something about it.  Something unusual and dark, it drew him to the machine.  “Let’s turn it on.”

Tom looked at him slowly, in complete disbelief.  “Why in God’s name would we do such a thing?”

“I’ve never seen it run. Call me curious.”

“Alright, Curious.  But if anything comes to life, I’m outta here.”

* * * * *

It had taken a bit of searching and listening to an old voice recording to realize that Joey’s “decorations” were actually instructions for turning the machine on. So they had scoured the studio, finding more closed and locked doors, crawling trying to find the “keys” to the machine.  And then they came across something else.  Something more terrible than the fire hazard that this studio was under.

Tom gingerly removed the wrench from Boris’ exposed ribs, being careful not to damage or hurt the ink monster more than what had already been done to him.  “Rest in peace, friend,” Tom said, muttering a common peace saying from the army. Both Henry and him were splattered with ink, spider webs and dust, and infinitely more shaken.  Joey still hadn’t shown up.  Was that all part of his plan? 

Boris had been a huge shock.  Seeing one of his doodles, life-sized, alone would have shaken Henry to his core.  But Boris… Boris was obviously dead.  He had been strapped to the table, his chest violently ripped open.  Bones were jutting out, and tiny pieces of inky flesh still slightly damp still clung to the bones and splattered on the table. Where there might have been organs were only a weak ink dribble and a wrench. Whatever had taken him down and ripped him apart had done so with ease.  Whatever else this studio was hiding, Tom and Henry did not want to find out.

Start the machine, see what it does, and leave.

Henry flipped through the book in his hands.  “The Illusion of Living – by Joey Drew”.  It was full of unusual equations and symbols, quotes in a foreign language that Henry could not decipher. Perhaps Joey was more talented than he had given him credit for.  But why, between Boris and this book, why and what was going on.

One thing was certain – he should have reappeared a long time ago.

“One wrench… I think that was the last of it.” Tom said, hefting the iron tool.

Henry nodded slowly.  “I guess stick these on the pedestals and flip the switch. See what happens.”

Tom and Henry slowly made their way across the studio, watching wearily for more cutouts and falling boards.  “I have to ask Henry… are you carrying your firepower?” Tom asked him, slightly pale under the remains of his hair.

Carrying… “No… it’s locked up at home.” Henry said.

Tom visibly winced and shivered slightly.  “So we are both vulnerable to whatever happened to Boris.”

“God, I hope not.”

Finally, they arrived back at the old room.  The lights, as if sensing their arrival, were brighter, more inviting.  They worked in silence, putting the prizes underneath their corresponding pictures.  Henry looked at the wrench before placing it on the pedestal.  He wouldn’t say anything to Tom but the tool looked familiar to him.  Like someone he had known had used it.  But… that would mean…

The tool and the other “gifts” placed, they began to float, twisting and turning slightly in midair.  “Normally I would say something, but that is the least scariest thing that’s happened all day,” Tom muttered, moving more to the middle of the hallway.

Henry couldn’t think of anything to respond.  Making his mind up quickly, he crossed the room and pulled the lever.

The result was instantaneous.

The room went dim, the gifts disappearing in a blink of an eye.  From the walls a gurgling sound was heard, the thick liquid sounding similar to hot oil. The little drips of oil became steady streams, darkening the room, and sliding between the cracks of the floor,

“Come on.  Let’s see what we did.” Henry said, quickly leaving the room.  He felt like he was surrounded by eyes, all watching his every move.  He just wanted to leave the studio again, message Joey and demand to meet somewhere normal.  What would have been wrong with a coffee shop?  Or one of the town’s many fast food joints?  Why did it have to be this creepy, possibly haunted studio that they both used to work at?

Tom followed him out, glancing around him.  Seems like he wasn’t the only one that could feel eyes on him.  “This whole place gives me the fucking creeps,” he said, “like a scene from King’s IT, just before something pops up and tries to murder you. The hairs on my arms and neck are standing straight up.”

Henry and him rounded a corner, fully prepared to see the ink machine. Instead…

“…. Henry… I didn’t board up this room… did you?” Tom asked. 

“Not I.  I’m not that good at carpentry.” He came off as stupid, but Henry knew what Tom was trying to do.  He was trying to logically debate with himself, trying to figure out what exactly happened.

The room, once open, was closed off by what looked like old planks.  They had been hammered across the doorway in a hurry it looked like.  Messily, nails stuck out at every angle and there were large gaps between the boards.

It reminded Henry of a project that someone had done to get over with, to simply say that they were done.

Cautiously, Tom approached the doorway.  “Looks like the Ink Machine is spewing ink,” he said, peering under the boards, “perhaps before they had it hooked up to pipes or something…” he stood up, slowly turning towards Henry.

After then, things happened too quickly for Henry to comprehend.

A long, thin, dark creature appeared behind the boards, an ugly snarl echoing down the hallway. He had a dark head with dripping horns, his mouth cast upwards into a permanent grin.  Henry caught sight of a spotless bowtie around the creature’s neck.  “BENDY!” he screamed, gesturing for Tom to move.

But it was too late.

Bendy seized a surprised Tom around his pale throat, pulling him backwards and slamming his head against the boards.  Tom’s eyes widened as fear as he was forced to look up, staring at the terrifying ink demon. “Henry, run!”

Growling lowly, Bendy’s hand crept upwards, moving slowly to grip his face, ignoring Tom’s desperate pleas for escape.  Tom wiggled and squirmed, trying to get out of his grip, hands coming up to try and pull the fingers away from his face.  He scratched and bit, alternating between pleas and muffled curses.

They were all ignored.

With a low growl, Bendy give a great squeeze.

It was like he had squeezed an overripe tomato.

There was a loud crack of bone and Tom’s face shifted.  Blood and bits of flesh seeped between the long, dark fingers, his jaw hanging uselessly on his chest.  His eyes, life slowly leaving them, darkened, losing the well-known sparkle. And still, Bendy continued to squeeze. More cracking noises were heard, but Henry couldn’t bear to see any more.

Spinning around on his heels, he ran down the hallway.

“CREATOR!”

He did not pause.  He continued to run, his feet slipping in the thick, pooling ink.  He gripped at the corners and at walls, looking to steady himself and propel himself further away from his friend’s body. He could almost hear footsteps behind him.

“CREATOR!”

There…. there it was!  The door from which they came!  He hadn’t been quite so relieved to see an exit sign as he was now. It already seemed like a lifetime ago.  He would get help, call the police and an ambulance.  Perhaps, if he hurried, he could still save Tom.  Running forwards he reached towards the door handle…

The floor gave way.

With a strangled scream, Henry fell.  Down, down, down, he fell, watching the torrents of ink gushing after him.

He was going to die… he was going to die here… in this accursed studio that he should have never returned to.

He knew that he should never have listened to Joey.

With a winded gasp, he landed on his tailbone, the broken boards managing to save him from serious injury.  He was alive… alive for now.

But Bendy… where was the demon?

Hide…. He needed to hide.

Looking around him, Henry realized that he didn’t recognize this part of the studio.  Seems like Joey hadn’t just built the ink machine.  He must have rebuilt the whole studio to fuel his dreams.

Picking himself up he began to limp down the unknown corridor.  Anything was better than back there.  Besides… Joey had to have another exit.  Another way out…

Or.  Or at the very least, a way to drain the ink.

 


	3. The Room of the False Phrophet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry wakes up after fleeing the Ink Demon, disoriented and confused. He knows that he can't return to the top floor now, but there has to be a way to get there deeper into the studio. So he does the only thing he can do...
> 
> Press on.
> 
> (Slight update to Chapter One)

Henry groaned, his eyes fluttering open before they were closing again.  His skull was aching, and his entire body hurt from laying on the hard, cold, hardwood floor.  The smell of ink and rust was heavy in his nose, his stomach tight and squeamish.  With a soft sound, Henry slowly pulled himself to his knees, and then sat up, keeping his eyes closed for the moment, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Deep breathes, he told himself.  Take the time to relax and settle. Think about your next move…

What was the last thing that he remembered?

His brain seemed to throb with the his thoughts but Henry slowly righted himself mentally, his memories returning to him.  Tom and him entering the studio because of Joey’s letter, the abandoned studio, finally seeing the ink machine, Bendy (Bendy was real!), and Tom’s gruesome death.  He felt his throat close at the memory.  Tom... Tom’s wife… widow and Linda were close friends.  She had been the one to first introduce Henry to Tom, always inviting them over to watch the game on the TV.  But now, she would never forgive him for this.  Henry closed his eyes, wiping away his slow tears.  That he deserved.  He should have saved Tom.  It should have been him standing next to the walled off room, should have been his throat seized by the demon.

But there was more.  He had cowardly run from the sight, bolting towards the exit.  The boards had given way and he had fallen through the floors of the studio, landing on the basement level of the studio.  Ink had been flowing into the little room and he had looked for a way to drain it.  And then…

Henry’s eyes snapped open as he looked frantically around him.  A small room, surrounded by coffins, candles and ink.  And he, Henry himself, was in the middle of a satanic circle.  He gave a small yelp, scrambling backwards so fast, he hit his back on one of the coffins.  Panting, he stared at the circle.  He had passed out once he entered the room but that didn’t explain how he had come to be in a circle of… well, he wasn’t sure.  Maybe there would be a book or something that he could look at later but now was not the time.  Catching his breath, he reminded himself that he wasn’t superstitious, that he didn’t believe in dark magic.  The satanic magic that Joey claimed to have was just a trick of the mind for him.  There was no way that these symbols meant anything other than to attempt to scare the weaker minds.  Slowly his heartbeat slowed to normal, Henry regaining his wits.

But he couldn’t stay here.  Already he could hear was the sound of bubbling pipes and floor boards groaning as if threatening to collapse upon his head.  He could still hear the heavy sound of ink pouring in from the ground level, soon the ink would have to override whatever draining system had been put in place.  And the studio hadn’t been used for close to thirty years.  Health and building codes had changed since then.  Who knows what bacteria or materials he was breathing in.  Asbestos, mould, ink… the list went on and on.  And that didn’t include whatever was being held in those coffins.  Henry had the sudden vision of a grinning skull with pieces of rotting staring back at him from its final resting place, causing him to shudder. 

Choosing to leave the coffins and their potential occupants alone, he reached down, grabbing his axe which had been placed neatly to the side of the circle.  Odd.  He only remembered passing out near the circle.  Not on or leaving his axe there of all places.  No time to think harder on that.  Best to continue forward, find a second exit or another way back up.  Taking a deep breath, he hefted the axe and began to cut through the boards that held him in this room.  He decided to ignore how they reminded him of how the Ink Machine’s room had been boarded up before Bendy had appeared.

The darkened hallway wasn’t much better than the circle where he had woken up in.  Ink spewed from above, coating the old wood with ink, leaving small puddles everywhere.  There was no real light here, only dim and flickering candlelight.  Bendy cut outs lined the hallways and corners, posters pasted everywhere, and little dishes that held little offerings of old food or cans of bacon soup were on the shelves.  It was like someone was setting up their own lair, or attempting to make it homelier.  There was even writing down here, same as upstairs.  But this one read something new.  Something different.  “Can I get an amen?” the wall read, the long dried ink dripping down the wall.  Henry swallowed hard, the devout words not settling well with him, not in this setting.  In a church, Henry would not have reacted to the words.  But this was no church.  This was an old studio, one that was seemingly guarded by a demon that used to dance on the screens of televisions.  It was not unheard of for people to turn to religious cults in time of need.  It would give them hope and home and strength… what had happened down here?

Perhaps someone was trying to make the best of a bad situation.  Still, it did not escape Henry seeing how the studio was literally falling apart around them.  Cracks were evident in the drywall, boards were hanging from the ceiling or trying to block the large, gaping holes in the walls.  Henry groaned softly, swatting at a spider’s web that draped across his path.

The place had not been looked after properly.  He needed to work and get out of here as soon as he could.

“…. Whoa.” he whispered to himself coming to a small clearing.  The area was in just as terrible shape as he had seen the rest of the studio, but there were more candle light here, making it look brighter.  The shadows danced with the candle light. 

Wait.  If the flames were moving, that had to mean that there was a breeze, or at least air pumping in from the outside of the studio.  Good.  At least he wasn’t going to suffocate down here or die from hypoxia.  He did not need to worry about his breathing.

He continued to walk forward, tightly gripping his axe, watching every corner and shadow.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched… he had better get out of here, and get out of here fast. 

Henry only paused a moment when he saw the hallway flooded with ink.  No dry pathway or way around the pool.  His clothes were already dirty and covered in ink.  So much for a nice day visit with an old friend.  With a soft sigh, Henry took a step into the inky river. With a small splash, his foot sank to the bottom.

The ink was thick and heavy, much heavier than water.  Where water he could have taken a full step, Henry found himself taking a half.  The ink had worn down the boards underneath, making it slick and slimy.  It would be too easy for him to slip and fall in it.  Carefully he took his time, watching for any other ink demons that might chose to appear beside him.

His head down, peering into the dark ink, he almost missed the soft muttering and the sound of sluggish footsteps.  Someone was alive! Someone was walking right in front of him!

Henry froze for a moment, watching as a vaguely human-shaped form walked in front of the doorway.  The shape was muttering to itself, the voice sounding like it was in prayer.  Deep and calm… Henry realized the figure had not seen him yet.  “Hey!  Can you help me!” he called out, moving faster.

Finally he reached the end.  No sign of the figure, though, perhaps that was for the best.  “That’s odd…. Where did he go?” he wondered out loud, looking at the wall.  There was no door or stairs as he expected.  Instead, shelves of bacon soup lined the little area, and a little Bendy cut out sat in front of a similar circle to where Henry had woken up to, minutes before.

A Bendy cut out… or Joey’s version of Bendy. Henry eyed it.  Bendy had come a long way since Henry had first pitched the design to Joey, so many years ago.  Henry had plans for the little demon.  It was supposed to be a fun adventure show, starring the little demon and all his friends.  Henry hadn’t figured out the exact dynamics of the show yet when he had first pitched it, but he supposed it would have been something like the modern day Sesame Street these days.  Educational but fun, the kids would have loved it.

But Joey had other ideas.

He had stolen the basics for Bendy’s original design from Henry and made him out to be a troublesome demon, one that had a knack for getting into some form of trouble.  He had decided to base it off of the very popular “Bugs Bunny Show” and “Tom & Jerry” shows instead.  That did not sit well with Henry.  Yes, it was Joey Drew Studios and yes it would be Joey producing any cartoon or work that was created at the studio, but Henry felt cheated.  Like his idea had been picked over and supplemented with other ideas, making it just different enough for Joey to claim as his own.  It had been one of the first arguments that had led to the end of Henry working at the studio.

There was an electric hum up ahead.  Time to move.  He had spent too much time remising already.

With a sigh, Henry stood up, hefting his axe and went to turn away, continue deeper into the studio.  But he could still feel the cut out’s eyes watching him, burning into his back as he went to walk away.

Turning around to face the Bendy figure again, Henry lifted the axe and brought it down upon the cut out.  The thin plywood shattered under the force of his strike, pieces of the demon scattering everywhere in the little hallway.  Panting and sweating slightly, Henry pulled the axe from the wall, and walked away.  He had not lost control like that for a long time.

He forgot how much he hated the feeling.

* * * * *

As Henry walked away, he missed seeing the cut out’s pieces begin to glow with a dark light. The wood released a low humming noise, the pieces lifting off the ground as they began to twitch, glowing brighter as they came closer to one another.  A bright flash of dark light and the cut out was in one piece again, as if Henry’s tantrum had never happened.

A tall figure stepped from the circle, looking around carefully to make sure that the intruder had not noticed him.  His Bendy mask was dented and dirty, almost covered in ink.  The familiar facial features were getting harder to see.  Soon he would have to replace it so he could pay the rightful homage to his lord.  It would be disrespectful to have an inadequate uniform.  His lord only deserved, and demanded the best after all.

The best regalia, one suitable for his followers, the best food… and the best sacrifices.

He watched where the human had gone, listening to his soft sounds.  It had been so long since he had seen a proper person walking these studios.  Everyone else was dead or gone, or they were transformed, liberated into their true forms, appropriate to the worship of lord Bendy.  Regardless of this person being human or not, Sammy knew that he had work to do.

“I said, can I get an amen?” he asked aloud, feeling his inky lips light up in a small smile.

The hunt was on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think or what you expect to happen during the next chapter! It helps encourage me to keep writing!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a Kudos or Comment if you enjoyed what you read! Feel free to follow me on my Tumblrs or buy me a Ko-Fi and support me on my Patreon!


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